


Ring of Roses

by Scruggzi



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Body Swap, Case Fic, F/M, Gratuitous flirting in the presence of a corpse, MFMM Year of Tropes, Mental Illness, Phrack Parenting the Shit out of Jane Ross, Post Season 3, but not literally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-17 20:29:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10601652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scruggzi/pseuds/Scruggzi
Summary: When a woman goes missing from Meadow Falls Sanatorium, Miss Fisher and the Inspector are on the case.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a literal body swap fic. I've often found body swap episodes a little uncomfortable because they can tend towards cringe humour which I'm not that into. I also find the idea of there being another person lurking behind the face of someone you know fairly disturbing. I tried to write something which picked up on that, so it might be a bit more 'body snatchers' than 'body swap'. 
> 
> This is set in late January 1930, about two months after Phryne gets back from London bringing Jane (who was on an adventure of her own) back with her. Phrack are together and insufferably adorable. I think if they keep it up Mac might actually kill them in self defence, possibly via some kind of sarcasm poisoning,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne takes Jane on a visit to her mother at Meadow Falls Sanatorium.

_I can tell it’s not you. Oh, someone who didn’t know you as well as I do might be fooled; she’s got your face, your laugh, just like it was before they took you away. I know better though, I know the truth. They can’t fool me so easy. Look at that, the way she’s playing with her hair, it’s a tiny gesture but I know you too well, it’s a tell, a clue. You’ve been replaced. I’m so angry I can barely keep still, how dare they? How dare they do this to you, to me? I have to hide it, can’t let on that I know. Who knows if I’m being watched. They have spies everywhere and if she sees…if she suspects. My God she already knows. I can tell by the way she’s smiling. There’s only one solution. It’s for the best. Wherever you are, know I love you. This has to be done and it’s got to be me that does it. I’m the only one who knows the truth. The impostor has to die._

 

 

Phryne did not like hospitals as a rule. The sterility of them, whilst obviously necessary, felt cold and impersonal. She had chosen the Meadow Falls Sanatorium with this in mind. The place was a large, modern building, cheerful and tastefully decorated in warm shades of green and gold, not the institutional white of a normal hospital.

Jane sometimes asked her to come along on these visits to her mother, more so since the two of them had returned to Melbourne. Phryne suspected that the girl felt a little guilty for abandoning Mrs Ross to the care of strangers whilst Jane went off on her own adventures abroad and seeing her mother in her current state of ill health was hard for her. Miss Fisher was of course very happy to provide her ward with moral support, but waking up so early in the morning to do so made her feel unacceptably virtuous. She smiled inwardly, thinking that she would need to do something deliciously debauched that evening to compensate. Not that she needed an excuse. Thankfully, these days, neither did Jack.

Her train of thought, which had been rather pleasantly occupied, was brought back to the present by Jane who was pulling on her hand.

‘Is it alright if I go in by myself? Would you mind?’

Jane’s voice was hesitant, she was ordinarily such a confident child, she’d never been exactly shy and her time abroad had done wonders for her. Here though, where her new life met her old, she always seemed a little uncertain. Phryne did her best to reassure her.

‘Of course, Jane. You go in and I’ll have a stroll around the garden and enjoy the sunshine. I’m sure I can find some way to amuse myself.’

‘Does that mean you’re going to find a murder Miss?’ Asked Jane, grinning at her.

Phryne raised her eyebrows at her in gentle reproach as she shepherded Jane towards the day room where Mrs Ross was waiting.

‘Murder is never amusing Jane. Now say hello to your mother for me and don’t forget the scones, Mr Butler made them specially.’

The girl smiled in gratitude, patting her bag to indicate that the baked treasures were carefully stowed and headed off towards a door at the end of the hall. Phryne walked on past her and out into the charming little rose garden at the back of the building.

Shouldering her parasol against the late January sun, she applied herself to the detailed construction of a perfectly decadent supper menu. Jane intended to stay at Meadow Falls to dine with her mother and Dot’s delicate condition left her largely indisposed at present, so Phryne intended to take full advantage of the intimacy provided by the empty house.

She wandered absently along the path, breathing in the heady scent of roses. Her mind was agreeably engaged considering the possible ways in which a fine, upstanding member of the Victorian Constabulary might be combined with a warm chocolate sauce and as a consequence, she wasn’t paying strict attention to her surroundings. She was therefore slightly startled when a voice behind her on the path called her name, although she was fully confident she had not let it show.

‘Excuse me, Miss Fisher?’

Turning around Phryne saw a young woman in a neat white sun dress and matching slippers, she had lank hair the colour of over-stewed tea and a pale, worried little face covered in freckles. Her protuberant ears and wide dark eyes made her look a little like a startled field mouse. Phryne was vaguely aware that she was a patient and having a good memory for names she took a guess.

‘Hello, it’s Miss Brown, isn’t it?’

‘Yes Miss. I was hoping, I mean if it’s not too much trouble. I think I need your help.’


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous flirting in the presence of a corpse.

Detective Inspector Jack Robinson was pulling a white sheet over the body of a woman lying dead in an alleyway when he heard the familiar clip of high heels approaching his crime scene. He assiduously avoided smiling.

‘Miss Fisher. What brings you to the back allies of Fitzroy this early in the afternoon?’ He asked, without looking up.

‘I come bearing details of your murder victim. Unless Hugh managed to contact you already?’

‘No, I’ve not heard from him. Go on then, who is she?’ He did smile as he met her eyes. Just a little, he couldn’t help himself.

‘Caroline Weston, assuming this is her?’ She produced a photograph obtained through mostly legitimate means from beneath the embroidered neckline of her silk sundress, it showed Mrs Weston and a dark haired teenage girl who could only be her daughter. Jack had removed his gloves as he stood up and the picture was slightly warm against his fingers when he took it from her.

‘She was a day patient at Meadow Falls Sanatorium and has probably been missing since some time last night.’ Phryne explained.

‘Meadow Falls? Jane’s mother is a patient there isn’t she? Is that your connection to the case?’

Jane had certainly taken the opportunity to say ‘I told you so’ when Phryne had explained why she would have to leave early, however Miss Fisher felt that this was a detail the Inspector could do without. The last thing she needed was those two ganging up on her.

‘More or less. I took Jane up there for a visit and met a friend of Mrs Weston’s, a Miss Samantha Brown. She was worried that her friend hadn’t made a luncheon appointment as planned. I had hoped that the poor girl was just paranoid, but when I _finally_ persuaded the sanatorium staff to call Mrs Weston’s family I found they had reported her missing this morning. I did call in at the station but Hugh told me you’d been called out to a crime scene and I just…had a feeling our paths were destined to cross today Inspector.’ The slow bat of her eyelashes as she finished this explanation was, in Jack’s opinion, entirely unnecessary.

‘Did you now? Well it’s defiantly her, what do you make of the body?’

Her meaningful glance down the length of his neat grey suit left him in no doubt as to the answer to that question and he had to fight hard to repress a smirk, after all they had work to do. He stepped back from the corpse of the late Mrs Weston and gestured to his partner who sashayed through his personal space to drop gracefully into a crouch beside him, donning a pair of gloves before pulling back the sheet.

The hansom, animated face of the cheerful looking, red headed woman in the photograph could still be seen, although death had drawn her features into a rictus of unnatural peace. The playful air Phryne had adopted when talking to Jack fell away as she saw the extent of the damage, replaced by the cool, dispassionate expression of the detective.

‘Knife wounds to the chest and neck. She was struck repeatedly with a large blade, there was some force behind it and I’d be willing to bet the killer kept on stabbing after she was dead. A crime of passion then? But the clothing appears intact and undamaged so probably not a sexual assault, unless we are dealing with a rapist who clears up after himself.’

Jack nodded grimly.

‘We found her handbag beside the body. Nothing appears to have been taken and her purse still had three shillings in cash in it. That would seem to rule out robbery as well.’

‘No bruising to the fingers or skin under her nails.’ Phryne continued. ‘So, either she was taken by surprise or she knew her attacker.’

‘Or she simply didn’t have the strength to fight back. You said she was a day patient at the sanatorium, I assume she wasn’t in the best of health?’ The Inspector countered.

‘Jack, look at this.’ Phryne was holding up the ring finger on the corpse’s left hand.

He crouched down to get a better look, his palm coming to rest instinctively between her shoulders. ‘The wedding ring wasn’t taken, looks to be gold as well, probably be quite valuable.’ He noted.

‘It wasn’t taken, but that wasn’t the only ring she was wearing on this finger. Look at the indentation here.’ She pulled off the wedding ring and indicated the skin just above the space where the golden band had sat. ‘There’s a deeper, thinner mark here where another ring normally rested, one which was a little too small for her finger.’ She looked up. ‘Mrs Weston was in the habit of wearing her engagement ring alongside her wedding band. And now it’s missing.’

‘If it was small for her finger it’s unlikely it came off accidentally. If you’re suggesting the murderer removed it, why only the engagement ring, why not the wedding ring as well?’ Jack mused, placing the ring Phryne had removed into an envelope and tucking the evidence into the pocket of his suit jacket. He then beckoned the police photographer over to take a close-up picture of the victim’s finger.

‘Perhaps it had some kind of significance for our killer?’ Phryne speculated.

‘Perhaps, although it would make more sense to take all of her jewellery in that case, rather than drawing suspicion by telegraphing the fact.’

‘Hmm, maybe Mr Weston can shed some light on the matter.’ She suggested.

‘Good idea. After that we should head back to the sanatorium and speak to this Miss Brown and any other friends Mrs Weston might have had there, see if they know of any reason someone might want her dead.’

Phryne nodded in agreement and took his arm.

‘Lead the way Inspector.’

Jack assigned a constable to keep the scene secure and wait for the coroner’s van to arrive before departing with Miss Fisher to visit the grieving widower.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne and Jack visit the late Mrs Weston's widower.

‘Mr Weston? Detective Inspector Robinson. I’m afraid we have some bad news.’

The man, who answered the door in carpet slippers, had not looked surprised to see them. Mr John Weston was tall and thin, his unkempt black hair was shot through with grey at the temples, he wore a woollen patterned vest over a rumpled shirt and brown tweed trousers in need of pressing.

Judging by the rest of the house, his dishevelled appearance was not the norm. The Richmond terrace was cramped with austere, working class respectability. He had ushered them into a small sitting room, crowded with cheap ornaments, the tattered furniture and faded carpets scrupulously clean. It would have been a dismal enough place in happy times, the spotless windows opened onto a dingy courtyard and let in very little light. It gave the place an oppressive, lifeless feel. Phryne wondered if Jack had grown up in a house like this. At least her home in Collingwood had had some vitality to it, so much life in fact you often had to beat it out of the mattress. This however, was a house where people obeyed society’s rules, and presumably got very little reward for it. Not an obvious spot for a potential killer, but they had found them often enough in stranger locations.

‘It’s Carol, isn’t it? You’ve found her? I didn’t want to think the worst, but when we realised she was missing…’ Mr Weston’s voice cracked as it trailed off, his eyes were swimming with unshed tears.

Phryne held herself still on the uncomfortable sofa, letting Jack take the lead whilst she watched the man’s face closely. What she saw confirmed her suspicions at the door. His grief seemed genuine enough, but their visit was the drop of the other shoe, he had already believed his wife to be dead when they arrived.

‘I’m sorry Mr Weston, we recovered her body in Fitzroy early this afternoon, it appears she was attacked. I know this is difficult, but can you tell me when you last saw your wife?’

The man nodded and answered with a visible effort, Jack’s sympathetic frown doing little to soften the blow.

‘Last night, we went to Henry and Gene’s for dinner. Her brother and his wife.’ He explained at the Inspector’s questioning glance. ‘Then after dinner, Gene, she was past her time, shouldn’t have been cooking for us really but she and Henry wanted to see us before the bub came. Carol, wasn’t well you see, it would have been too much being around a little one.’

‘Your sister in law went into labour?’ Phryne asked delicately, men could get so flustered about that sort of thing. Not that it was a subject she particularly liked to contemplate herself if she could help it.

‘I do deliveries for the grocers up on Landsdown Street and I had the van with me, so I took Gene and Henry to the Lying-In Hospital. I told Carol to stay put, she’s not good with hospitals because of her trouble, you know. I waited up there till they told us Gene was alright.’ His face softened a little as he spoke. ‘A little girl. They’re calling her Alice, after Carol and Henry’s mum.’

‘You stayed at the hospital until the baby was born?’ Phryne asked in surprise. ‘You must have been there very late, these things can take some time, or so I’m told?’ She managed to repress a shudder at the thought.

‘Yeah, it was about five in the morning when I left. Henry stayed up there in the visitor’s room, one of the nurses made up a bed for him. I figured Carol would be asleep so I came straight home. I went back to pick her up around eleven this morning and when I realised she wasn’t there I went looking for her. There was no sign anywhere nearby and none of the neighbours had seen her so I called the police.’

‘You were worried something might have happened to her? Do you have reason to believe anyone would have wanted to harm your wife?’ Jack asked him.

‘Harm her? No, not at all. It’s just Carol, well she had her trouble. Our Daisy, she’s been working up at the sanatorium. Such a clever girl, gonna be a nurse one day.’ A glimmer of paternal pride shone through the man’s grief at the mention of his daughter. ‘Well she got one of the doctors up there to look Carol over, didn’t charge us or nothing, real generous he was. Said she’s got trouble in her head, but he could help her. Still I never liked her going off on her own, she…’ he stifled a sob ‘she used to get scared of things, think people were watching her and that, sometimes she didn’t know properly where she was.’

‘Thank you.’ Jack said, adding some notes to his notepad. ‘Was your daughter Daisy with you at your brother in law’s?’

‘No. Daisy had a shift last night. She wasn’t home before eight so we went along without her.’ Mr Weston shifted uncomfortably on his chair, then drew out a handkerchief to wipe his eyes.

‘And what time was it that you left for the hospital?’

‘Around nine, nine thirty maybe.’

‘Thank you, Mr Weston, that will be all for now. We will need to speak to your daughter as well, and your brother in law.’

After being given an address in Carlton for Henry and Gene Jameson, the detectives gave the man their condolences and headed out towards the hall. They had learned that Daisy Weston was working at the sanatorium again that day and were hoping to speak to her, as well as to find out more about their murder victim.

As they were leaving, Phryne turned back to the widower who was seeing them to the front door.

‘Can you tell me Mr Weston, did your wife wear her engagement ring alongside her wedding band?’

He looked surprised at the apparent non-sequitur but answered readily enough.

‘Yeah, she did. It was her mum’s it was. Good woman Alice Jameson, I liked her. When I proposed to Carol, she gave it me to give to her. Said it was right she should have it.’

‘If she was wearing it last night, it may have been stolen.’ Jack told him. ‘Can you give a description?’

‘I can’t say I noticed it in particular last night, but she always wore it. It was old, been in the family a long time. Rose gold, no stone or nothing, but there was a bit in the middle shaped like flowers.’

Jack nodded and wrote this down. ‘If we have any more questions we will be in touch. I’m sorry again for your loss.’

Phryne touched the man gently on the arm in a gesture of sympathy as she followed the Inspector out towards the car. As the door of the cheerless little house closed behind them, the two detectives made their way (at a speed that made Jack wince and glare at Phryne to no purpose whatsoever) back towards Meadow Falls Sanatorium.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at Meadow Falls, the veteran investigators get a little help from Melbourne's youngest lady detective.

They decided on the way to divide their efforts once they arrived. The Inspector telephoned the station in order to dispatch Constable Collins to interview Henry and Gene Jameson and was subsequently treated to a lengthy lecture on doctor-patient confidentiality by the sanatorium’s lead psychiatrist Dr Anderson. Meanwhile, Phryne met up with Jane who was still sitting with her mother, reading to her from a book which Phryne thought Jack might have lent her. Anna Ross had clearly been given some kind of sedative, she gave Phryne a vague, uncomprehending smile in greeting before Jane hugged her mother in farewell and dragged Miss Fisher off towards the hallway.

‘I asked about Mrs Weston for you.’ The girl told her, apparently well pleased with her burgeoning detective skills.

‘And what did you find out?’ Phryne tried to keep the pride she felt at her daughter’s accomplishments out of her voice until she could ascertain how many rules had been broken in the completion of her task.  As it turned out she needn't have worried.

‘I spoke to my mother. She told me that Mrs Weston has been coming here for three months to see Dr Anderson but she doesn’t pay him. She’s part of his research. Mother heard some of the nurses talking about it. Whatever’s wrong with her, it’s something rare and Dr Anderson is studying it.’

‘Thank you, Jane, that’s very interesting. I don’t suppose your mother overheard what the condition was?’ Phryne wasn’t certain that this information would be helpful in tracking down Mrs Weston’s killer but it didn’t pay to overlook things in a murder investigation, you never knew where you would find an unexpected clue.

‘She did, it was in French so she couldn’t understand it, but she said it sounded like _l’illusion des souris_. I don’t think that seems right though.’

‘The illusion of _mice_?’ Phryne frowned. ‘Perhaps a phobia? But it’s hardly an uncommon one.’

‘That’s what I thought. Sorry I couldn’t me more useful.’

‘You’ve been very useful Jane, thank you. Now, if you would like to be more useful, you can help me track down Miss Brown whilst the Inspector keeps the doctors busy, I expect Miss Weston will be summoned in to hear the news about her mother, but we should speak to her as well if we see her.’

‘There was something else Miss.’ Jane looked awkward. Phryne knew that look, it always made Jane uncomfortable and a little defensive when she had to talk too much about her mother’s illness. ‘Mrs Weston was Daisy Weston’s mother, wasn't she?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Well mother just said…she said ‘at least I never forgot you like that’. I’m not sure quite what she meant but she seemed so sad, I didn’t want to ask her too many questions, then the nurses came to give her some medicine to calm her down and it made her confused so I couldn't find out any more.’ It broke Phryne’s heart to hear the justification in the girl’s voice. As if protecting her mother was anything to be ashamed of.

‘Of course, Jane. You were quite right, there’s no need to upset her. Now, I need to conduct some interviews and I could use your powers of observation.’

Although Phryne often dropped Jane off at the sanatorium and occasionally visited herself, Jane was a much more familiar face and as she had met Miss Weston on a few occasions, she could make an introduction if they happened to come across the girl. Phryne made it clear though that Jane’s role was to observe rather than to interrogate.

As it happened they found both Daisy Weston and Samantha Brown in the garden where Phryne had enjoyed the sun that morning. Miss Weston had evidently received the news about her mother and was sitting on a bench, staring with unseeing red eyes at a rose bush beside the walkway. She was a tall slim girl of around 18 with the same black hair as her father and her mother’s strong jaw and large, dark eyes. Samantha Brown was next to her, gingerly stroking her shoulder with one hand whilst resting the other on her knee. She looked up when she saw Phryne and Jane approach but Miss Weston barely appeared to notice them at all.

‘Hello Miss Fisher, Miss Ross. A policeman came, Daisy’s had some terrible news…’ The girl trailed off looking wretched.

‘Yes, we know. I’m so sorry for your loss Miss Weston.’ When the girl Did not respond, Phryne addressed her client. ‘Did Inspector Robinson ask you both some questions?’

The girl nodded. ‘He’s still speaking to the doctor I think. He was very kind, but Daisy didn’t see her mother yesterday so we couldn’t help him much. Do you think he’ll find who did it?’

‘I’ll make sure he does.’ Phryne promised gently, although she had no idea if it was a promise she could keep. Deciding that she could hone Jane’s talents as an investigator another time, she dispatched her to fetch some hot, sweet tea for Miss Weston then joined the two women on the bench.

‘This must have come as a terrible shock, were you and your mother very close?’

Daisy Weston raised her pale face slowly, her eyes were dry but oddly blank. She appeared to be in shock.

‘She wasn’t my mother, not anymore.’

Phryne glanced down to where the girl’s hands were clasped in her lap and saw she was wearing a small golden ring, decorated with little roses.

‘But she gave you her engagement ring? Your father told us it was a family heirloom.’

At the mention of the ring the girl noticeably flinched, the rictus of grief replaced by something that looked more like fear.

‘Did she give you the ring Daisy?’ Phryne asked her quietly.

Although the girl nodded, Phryne had the distinct impression that she was not telling the truth, however she was prevented from pursuing this line of enquiry by the return of Jane and one of the nurses. The woman glowered at Phryne in disapproval and ushered Miss Weston off towards the staff room to collect the promised tea. Jane mouthed an apology behind the nurse’s retreating back as they left.

Samantha lingered for a moment, seeming unsure if she ought to say something. Apparently coming to a decision, she turned to Phryne.

‘When Daisy said she wasn’t her mother, she didn’t mean it, she’s just upset. Mrs Weston, she thought Daisy was…was someone else, that she wasn't really Daisy anymore, like there was someone else inside. Daisy couldn’t look after her anymore, her mum got so angry she would scream and spit at her. That’s why Daisy asked me to sit with her sometimes.’    

Jane looked shocked. Phryne could see now what had troubled Anna Ross so much about Mrs Weston’s condition. Jane’s presence was always such a comfort to her mother, even when her fear and confusion overcame her. And whilst her chronic illness meant she could never be entirely a parent to Jane, her daughter loved her very much.

Phryne placed a comforting hand on her ward's shoulder as she addressed Miss Brown.

‘Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Mrs Weston Samantha? Was she often aggressive towards people here?’

‘No Miss, only to Daisy. I know it upset her but she knew it wasn’t her fault. Her mum was very ill that’s all. That’s why Daisy asked Doctor Anderson to help her. People here liked Mrs Weston, I did too. I hope you catch whoever killed her.’ The last words came out with a startling ferocity at odds with the vague, somehow insubstantial air the girl normally projected, as if she was wholly present for the first time. It was a little disconcerting.

‘Thank you, Samantha. I’ll do my best.’

The girl nodded and wandered down the path towards the dormitories whilst Phryne took Jane’s arm and steered her back towards the main building, intending to discover if Jack had found out anything useful whilst interviewing the staff. Her ward looked up at her with worried eyes.

‘Miss Phryne? Do you think that could happen to my mother, that she could forget me like that?’

‘I don’t know Jane, but if it was a concern I’m sure the doctors would have said something to us. And you told me yourself that Mrs Weston’s condition was rare enough that Dr Anderson was treating her for free so she could be part of his research, so I don't think it's very likely.’

Jane nodded, looking a little mollified. As they passed out of the sun, still bright even as evening began to draw in, they spotted Jack, leaning against the open door to the day room apparently waiting for them.

‘Inspector!’ Jane skipped up to Jack and gave him an enthusiastic hug which left him looking a little abashed. Although she was sure that Jane genuinely adored Jack, Phryne suspected her ward had taken to expressing it so exuberantly, at least in part for the pleasure of discomposing him. The thought made her smile as she met Jack’s eyes over the girl’s back. 

‘Hello Jane. How’s your mother doing?’ He asked.

‘She got a bit upset earlier so they had to give her a sedative. She’s having her nap soon so I'm going to have supper with Miss Phryne instead. Are you coming too? We found out lots of stuff for your investigation!’

Jack raised his eyebrows at Phryne.

‘Is that so? I didn’t realise your detective business had become a family affair Miss Fisher?’

‘I’m sure Jane will be happy to debrief you on the way Inspector. If you’re ready to leave?’

He nodded and the three of them left the sanatorium in the direction of Wardlow and the tempting prospect of Mr Butler’s excellent cooking.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugh attempts to channel the detective powers of Inspector Robinson through a haze of sleep deprivation whilst getting misty eyed about babies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never had a beta for this before but my lovely spouse agreed to read this fic and requested some 'Hugh being adorable' so here you are.

Senior Constable Hugh Collins had not been sleeping well. His wife Dot, who was in his opinion the most beautiful, patient, clever and brave woman in the whole world, was not enjoying pregnancy as much as he had expected her to. She was four and a half months gone, two of which had seen her suffer from a chronic bout of morning sickness that showed no signs of abating. This had now been joined by the need to relieve herself several times a night, invariably waking him up when she did so. Her ordinarily sweet and peaceful nature had been rendered decidedly more unpredictable than usual by the experience. He had brought her home some flowers the week before and for some reason this had made her weep uncontrollably at their scrubbed, wooden kitchen table and cling to him as if her life depended on it. It was utterly terrifying.

That was nothing however, compared to the now regular presence of Dotty’s mother, who had arrived, uninvited and unannounced to ‘take care of her dear girl’ – and apparently refer to him as a ‘proddy dog’ in his own home when she thought he was out of earshot. The trouble was that they did, in fact, need her help. Mr Butler, Ces and Burt and even Miss Fisher and the Inspector had all visited, but they could not come every day and until the bout of sickness passed Dot would not be able to manage on her own.

It was therefore with a certain degree of resentment that Hugh approached the Women’s Hospital on Madeline St, full of those lucky parents who had gotten the whole unpleasant business of pregnancy out of the way and could enjoy the benefits of having children. Something Hugh was very much looking forward to.

Trying hard to project the air of effortless authority that Inspector Robinson always managed to exude and fighting the fog clouding his brain, Hugh traipsed up the steps to the reception counter. Having been given directions by the sister in charge, he soon found himself in a large ward, divided up into smaller sections by white starched curtains dipped in carbolic to ward off infection. A young blonde woman was sitting up in bed, sleepily cradling a new-born infant whilst a man with short cropped red hair smoked a gasper, blowing the smoke out of the open window.

‘Mr and Mrs Henry Jameson?’ He asked in his most ‘Senior Constable’ voice.

The man looked round at him, flicking the stub of his cigarette out into the garden.

‘Yes? Can I help you officer?’ He asked politely if a little groggily.

Hugh recognised the haggard look of sleep deprivation from his own bathroom mirror and felt a certain kinship for the man. Glancing over at the woman in the bed he decided it would probably be better to talk to the husband first, given the distressing news he would have to impart.

‘Could I speak to you in private Mr Jameson, I’m afraid I have some bad news.’

The man appeared to take the blow stoically enough, though Hugh was an accomplished enough detective to see he had been badly shaken by the news. _Holding himself together for the sake of his family_ , the Constable thought, privately approving.

‘I’d appreciate it if I could be the one to tell my wife Constable. It will come as a great shock, she is…was, very fond of Carol.’

‘Of course, sir. I’m sorry to do this but I will need to speak to you both about your whereabouts last night.’

The man looked at him as if he’d gone completely mad.

‘We were both here of course! Gene was giving birth to our daughter!’

Collins felt himself blush at his own idiocy. Obviously, they were here, all the proof needed for that was gathered in a swaddling blanket being gently rocked to sleep by Mrs Jameson. However, as Inspector Robinson always said, it was important to assess all the facts carefully, before jumping to any hasty conclusions.

‘I understand that sir but I still have to ask. It’s just routine.’ He replied in his best approximation of the Inspector’s polite but unflappable tones. He thought he did quite well in the circumstances.

Re-joining mother and child on the ward, the constable stood back to watch. It was another tactic he had learned from his boss, you could learn a lot about people if you just stayed quiet and observed their reactions. He did not learn a lot from Mrs Jameson’s however, other than the obvious - she was clearly shocked and upset by the news as well as a little frightened – unsurprising given the violence of her sister in law’s death. She clutched her baby tightly to her chest and stared from her husband the Hugh with wild eyes.

‘But who would want to hurt Carol? I know she had her troubles, but she was such an innocent soul.’

‘That’s what we want to find out Mrs Jameson.’ Collins reassured her. ‘Can you tell me what time you last saw Mrs Weston?’

‘I’d finished the dishes and we were out in the garden taking the air when the baby came. John – that’s Carol’s husband – drove us here around nine last night.’

Hugh made a note of this and turned to Henry Jameson.

‘And you and Mr Weston stayed here until the baby arrived, is that right?’

‘Yes, John said Carol should stay at our place. She didn’t like hospitals much, had some bad experiences when her trouble first started up.’

‘And what time did he leave?’

‘He came in to see me and Alice around ten to five in the morning, then headed off. I thought he wanted to get back to Carol but he was dog tired - he could have just gone home.’ Gene Jameson supplied.

‘And he was with you up until that point sir?’ Collins directed the question at Mr Jameson who had returned to his place by the window and lit another cigarette with shaking hands.

‘As far as I know. I dropped off to sleep before he left, the nurses woke me when the shift changed at 9am to tell me everything had gone alright.’ He answered, puffing another stream of smoke into the balmy summer air.

‘You can’t think John had anything to do with this, he was devoted to Carol, he’d never hurt her.’ Gene Jameson objected, a flush of anger creeping up her neck.

‘We don’t have any suspects at this time. I’m just verifying the details he gave us.’ Hugh tried to reassure her.

He was captivated by the tiny infant, all red fists with a downy fuzz of dark hair coating her delicate scalp. Looking at her, it was hard to tear his mind away from thoughts of his own unborn child. He couldn't stop thinking about how beautiful any daughter of Dotty’s would be and how proud he would feel to see her lying in one of these narrow beds, holding the son he had always dreamed of having.         

After apologising to the young couple for his intrusion he took his leave, pausing on the way out to verify the times they had given him with the nursing staff. As he headed to the exit he passed a bright, airy little room marked ‘Visitors’ which opened on to the hospital gardens, presumably giving anxious fathers-to-be somewhere to pace in terror and anticipation! He felt a great thrill of excitement course through him at the thought that in a few months, he would be sitting in there, waiting to meet his child for the first time.

Stifling a yawn, he decided to return home rather than head back to the station. His shift was technically over and he very much wanted to see Dotty, to kiss her and rest his hand on her belly where their baby was growing apace and getting closer to the world. It was important to remember, however difficult the sleepless nights and the tyranny of Mrs Williams were, that as long as he had Dotty, he was and remained the luckiest man in the world.

This in mind, he headed home to tell her so.     


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family phrack have dinner and the detectives swap some theories about the case.

Dinner may not have been the romantic affair Phryne had been envisioning in the Meadow Falls rose garden, but it was at least lively. She and Jane took it in turns to retell tales from their adventures abroad until Jack - in a futile attempt to dissuade Miss Fisher’s ward from any serious inclinations she had towards becoming her partner in crime - turned the conversation to poetry. Jane had recently become enamoured with the work of Ranier Maria Rilke, a personal favourite of the Inspector’s, but had yet to attempt it in the original German.

There had been a lot of these suppers with just the three of them since Phryne and Jane had returned to Melbourne. News of Mrs Ross’ worsening health had reached her daughter in late September whilst Jane was en route to visit Egypt (not even her experience at the hands of Murdock Foyle had been enough to cure Miss Ross of her fascination with the pharaohs). Phryne, whose own parents had led her a merry dance all the way to England, had arrived in London to find a letter from Jane, begging for help to return to Melbourne. Deciding that a place in the history books as an aviatrix of renown would have to compensate for her supplementary role as an international taxi service, Jane’s guardian angel had swooped in to fly her home.

Jack was alternately correcting Jane’s pronunciation as she attempted a German recitation of _Child in Red_ and addressing minted new potatoes and poached salmon with an enthusiasm bordering on the indecent. Watching the two of them together, Phryne was struck by the thought that, were there such a thing as an exam for fatherhood, Jack would undoubtedly sail through it without the need for study. Although, she reflected ruefully thinking of her own father, were such an exam to be binding Phryne herself would almost certainly have never been born.

She tried not to analyse it too much, but there was no doubt that the growing bond between her partner and her daughter added a certain weight of responsibility to her relationship with Jack. Not that the days, and most especially the nights, since her return had not been positively delightful in so many ways, but they remained very different people and their close rapport had always had an element of conflict to it. It could still end as a tragedy of Shakespearian proportions, but now, in this moment they were happy and in the moment, was generally where Phryne Fisher preferred to live.

When dinner was over, Jane headed upstairs to complete some history homework and Jack and Phryne retired to the parlour for a nightcap, intending to work through the finer details of their case. Phryne kicked off her shoes and motioned to Jack to pour the whiskey, taking up position on the chaise. He joined her, nudging her feet up so he could sit down, she took the proffered glass and stretched her legs out again, resting them across his lap.

‘Well, Daisy Weston has our victim’s engagement ring. She claims her mother gave it to her, but I was interrupted by a most unhelpful nurse who whisked her away before I could ask when.’

‘Power of the freight train deserted you Miss Fisher?’ His lip twitched at the corner and he knocked back his whiskey, placing the glass on the side table. ‘She wasn’t wearing it when I interviewed her so I didn’t get a chance to ask. Didn’t get much out of her to be honest, she went practically catatonic after I gave the news of her mother’s death.’

Phryne nodded. ‘Yes, I thought she seemed in shock for the most part, but there was a definite reaction when I asked about that ring and if she avoided wearing it in the presence of a policeman…I think she stole it.’

‘Possibly, but it doesn’t necessarily follow that she killed her own mother in the process. We don’t know for sure that Mrs Weston was actually wearing the ring last night, she could have given it to her daughter prior to her death.’

‘Samantha Brown seemed to think Mrs Weston couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as her daughter, it hardly seems likely she would voluntarily pass on a valuable heirloom.’

He nodded fractionally, acknowledging the point, but continued to frown in concentration as he worked through the problem.

‘Do you trust her story? You said Miss Brown suffers from paranoia.’

‘No I said I hoped her fears for her friend were paranoia, and her friend is now dead. Besides Jane’s mother also implied there was some kind of tension between Carol and Daisy Weston.’

Jack’s expression was sympathetic but it was clear he did not see Anna Ross as an especially reliable witness either.

‘What about the husband?’ He asked.

‘He seemed genuinely heartbroken.’

‘And yet he left his wife, who he claimed was often too ill to be out alone, in her brother’s empty house whilst he stayed with his sister in law at the Lying-In Hospital, despite the fact she already had her husband with her.’ His tone was a little disapproving, Phryne knew Jack had views when it came to marriage and they were not ones she shared.

‘Yes, I thought that was odd too. Why not return to the Jameson’s to take his wife home after dropping them at hospital?’ She sighed. ‘It must be hard, being legally bound to someone so unwell they can’t even go out by themselves. I can’t imagine how they managed.’

‘I suspect that’s why the part about ‘sickness and health’ is included in the marriage contract.’ He replied dryly.

There was a somewhat pregnant pause in which Phryne sipped her whiskey, deliberately avoiding Jack’s eyes. He broke the silence with a slight cough before speaking again.’

‘The coroner’s report should be ready in the morning. Perhaps Doctor MacMillan can shed some light on Mrs Weston’s mystery ailment. Dr Anderson seemed very reluctant to talk about it, given the woman is dead.’

A goading smile spread across Phryne’s face as she blinked up at him, her blue eyes twinkling.

‘A date at the morgue Inspector? You insufferable romantic.’

‘Guilty as charged Miss Fisher.’ He replied, his long fingers stroking up the silk of her stocking as he leant in for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Child in Red - Rainer Maria Rilke
> 
> Sometimes she walks through the village in her  
> little red dress  
> all absorbed in restraining herself,  
> and yet, despite herself, she seems to move  
> according to the rhythm of her life to come.
> 
> She runs a bit, hesitates, stops,  
> half-turns around...  
> and, all while dreaming, shakes her head  
> for or against.
> 
> Then she dances a few steps  
> that she invents and forgets,  
> no doubt finding out that life  
> moves on too fast.
> 
> It's not so much that she steps out  
> of the small body enclosing her,  
> but that all she carries in herself  
> frolics and ferments.
> 
> It's this dress that she'll remember  
> later in a sweet surrender;  
> when her whole life is full of risks,  
> the little red dress will always seem right.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to the morgue leads to an interesting discovery about the late Caroline Weston.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested here's the full text of Rilke's Buddha in Glory - https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/buddha-in-glory/

Phryne stretched, cat-like, in a blissful, languorous doze. Following their initial adventures in the parlour the previous evening, Jack had made the thoroughly persuasive case that Rilke’s _Buddha in Glory_ , when whispered in his sweet, dark and infinitely seductive voice, could more than compensate for the lack of a warm chocolate sauce. As they were due at the morgue by 8.30am, a time of day Phryne disapproved of on principle, Jack was forced to wake her before 7.00. As an attempt at recompense he did so by trailing kisses down her spine, his teeth grazing gently against her vertebrae. That decision turned out to be something of a tactical error and resulted in them being 15 minutes late to meet Dr MacMillan. Phryne could not bring herself to feel even slightly guilty about this.   

‘Hello Mac. Sorry we’re late.’ She sang out as she strode through the morgue door, past Jack, who stood holding it open for her so she could make her entrance.

‘Where did you two get to?’ Asked Mac, a little redundantly, it hardly took a genius to work it out.

‘Oh, we were…unavoidably delayed.’ Phryne replied, shooting Jack a look that could make a corpse blush. The Inspector satisfied the remainder of the Doctor’s very limited curiosity on that topic by looking ever so slightly smug before changing the subject.

‘What can you tell us about our victim Doctor?’ He asked, with his customary degree of courteous efficiency.

Mac rolled her eyes at the pair of them before directing their attention to the cadaver on the table, glad to steer the conversation towards the less nauseating subject of sudden, violent death.

‘She was stabbed repeatedly in the chest and neck with a single edged, non-serrated blade, at least eight inches in length.’ She reeled off.

‘No defence wounds on her hands and very little tearing around most of the lacerations which suggests she was taken by surprise and that most of her injuries were inflicted post-mortem. No evidence of forced penetration. From the angle of attack, I'd say they killer was considerably taller than her, but as she was only 5’2” I doubt that narrows it down.’

‘What about the time of death?’ Asked Jack.

‘She was out in the sun for a while before you found her. I'd put it at between four and seven in the morning.’

‘That puts paid to Mr Weston’s alibi and Daisy Weston left the sanatorium long before 4am.’ Phryne noted in mild frustration.

‘Sorry to disappoint you with inconvenient facts, but they are what they are.’ Mac replied firmly.

‘There was something else.’ Phryne added. ‘Mrs Weston was apparently suffering from a rare condition which left her apparently unable to recognise her own daughter. Jane's mother thought it sounded like _l'illusion des souris_ but I hoped you might have a better suggestion.’

Dr Macmillan looked confused for a moment before light dawned.

‘You don't mean _l’illusion des sosies_ do you?’

‘The illusion of look-alikes?’ Jack frowned, drawing his eyebrows together.

‘Oh well done Inspector.’ Phryne beamed at him. ‘I see your French is improving.’

He tilted his head at her, fractionally raising his eyebrows. ‘A serious scholar always seeks to improve himself Miss Fisher and you did appear to appreciate my firm grasp of German.’

‘I do like a studious man.’ She smirked up at him, leaning in to straighten his tie.

Good God, thought Mac, it is far too early in the morning for these two. You would think the presence of an over-ripe corpse in the room would put them off, not that it ever has before. She cleared her throat pointedly before continuing.  

‘It’s more commonly known as the Capgras Delusion. Patients with it become convinced that their loved ones have been replaced by a double or sometimes that their bodies have been taken over by malevolent spirits. It’s often associated with paranoid schizophrenia and female hysteria.’ The leaden sarcasm in Mac's tone indicated precisely how she felt about the latter association.

‘Why would Dr Anderson be reluctant to talk about it, if that’s what he’s researching?’ Jack wondered.

Mac sniffed, she had worked with Dr Anderson at the University before he took up the post at Meadow Falls and was all too familiar with the man’s charming bedside manner. ‘Because Reg Anderson would never voluntarily give up any information if he thought he might get a publication out of it. Especially if he was working on a cure. Wouldn’t want anyone else taking the credit.’

Jack looked shocked and a little suspicious at this revelation. ‘This is a _murder_ investigation Doctor.’

Mac held up a hand in reassurance and shook her head. ‘Oh, that wouldn’t matter to him. Dr Anderson’s a brilliant scientist, if I ever contract something incurable there’s no-one I’d rather have working on the problem, but he’s also pathologically single minded and incredibly ambitious. The Capgras Delusion was only formally identified seven years ago and it’s very poorly understood, so this is still cutting edge research. It would shock me more if he wasn’t secretive about it.’       

Jack did not look entirely convinced and seemed about to argue, when Phryne, who had been staring blankly at the body of Caroline Weston on the slab between them, snapped her head up on a sudden thought.

‘Can’t schizophrenia run in families?’

It had been one of Jane’s fears, confided in secret during the trip home from Egypt to Melbourne. She worried for her mother, her care and duty to Anna Ross sometimes making her seem more parent than child. But secretly she also feared she would become her, that her mother’s madness would be passed on, invading her body and stealing from her the independent mind which was her most precious possession.

Mac nodded in answer to her question. ‘Sometimes, but other things can contribute too, emotional trauma for example.’

Jack cottoned on to Phryne’s train of thought. ‘You think the daughter suffers from the same condition? That she killed her mother because she believed she had been replaced by a double?’

‘Think about it Jack. She has her mother’s engagement ring and she’s not being honest about how she got it. If Daisy believed Caroline Weston was some kind of impostor, you can see why she might take it, as a family heirloom she would see it as rightfully hers. If it held sentimental value for her, it could explain why none of Mrs Weston’s other valuables were missing.’

‘Violence against the supposed impostor can be one of the symptoms of the Capgras Delusion.’ The doctor confirmed. ‘If it’s bound up with other forms of paranoia then violence against the person they see as causing the switch can happen as well.’

‘Sounds like a theory worth investigating.’ Agreed the Inspector. 'I’ll have Hugh bring Miss Weston in for questioning.’

Jack and Phryne exited in the direction of the City South interview room, leaving Mac behind to clear away the body of the late Caroline Weston, wondering absently if she could get away with hosing those two down the next time they got too carried away in her morgue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Capgras Delusion was indeed identified in 1923 by a couple of French scientists, Joseph Capgras and Jean Reboul-Lachaux and it easily makes it into the top five on my list of Scariest and Most Harrowing Things Ever. Sadly as their original paper is in French I have taken a few historical liberties in terms of how much was known about the condition in 1930, probably not too much as it's thankfully extremely rare.
> 
> The delusion is caused by an interruption (such as a brain lesion) between the visual cognition centres of the brain which recognise faces and the parts responsible for emotional processing. Whilst it is associated with paranoid schizophrenia, it can also be caused by head trauma and despite Mac's totally understandable scepticism, there is some evidence it is slightly more common in women, although this seems to remain a matter of dispute. There are recent examples where patients have believed that their loved ones - usually a parent or a spouse - have been replaced by aliens or that sinister forces have conspired to switch their bodies with a duplicate. Violence or hostility against the 'impostor' is also not uncommon and on at least one occasion this has gone as far as murder, with the US courts accepting a plea of insanity. Luckily for the patients at Meadow Falls it would still be a few more years before anyone decided that lobotomy and insulin induced comas were a good idea when it came to treatment. It is however treatable today, mostly through therapy intended to address the underlying delusions which accompany it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at City South the detectives interview Daisy Weston, but she's not alone.

‘Hugh!’ Phryne greeted Senior Constable Collins with enthusiasm as she strode through the doors of City South Police station arm in arm with his boss. ‘How’s Dot doing? I hope she knows we’ve been missing her terribly at Wardlow.’ Dorothy Collins' morning sickness had forced her to temporarily abandon her post as Miss Fisher’s ‘girl Friday’ and her absence had been keenly felt.

‘Hello Miss Fisher. Still sick most days I’m afraid, but that tonic Mr Butler made for her helped a lot.’

‘I’ll have him make up another batch and bring it over tomorrow.’ Phryne promised sympathetically.

While she was a regular visitor, usually bearing a cinema magazine or some other thoughtful present, Phryne was not one to linger too long beside a sick bed, they reminded her too much of France. The young constable was unaware of the reason why Miss Fisher always seemed to cut her visits short, assuming vaguely that Mrs William’s vocal brand of fire and brimstone Catholicism might be something of a factor. He did know that his wife missed Phryne’s company and their investigations a great deal and was about to tell her so, when, catching the Inspector’s eye, he decided that paying closer attention to his job might be a more prudent move.

‘I went up to the Women’s Hospital like you said Sir. Mr Jameson can confirm Mr Weston's presence there up until the point he fell asleep in the visitors’ room, but he couldn’t be sure when that was. Mrs Jameson confirms that Mr Weston came into see her before he left at around ten to five, the hospital staff confirmed the time and that Mr Jameson was in the visitor’s room when the shift changed at 9am.’

‘Thank you, Collins. Did you collect Miss Weston from the sanatorium?’ The Inspector had telephoned the order through from the morgue.

‘Yes sir, she's waiting for you in the Interview room. Um…there’s a Miss Brown with her as well. She said Miss Fisher was working for her and insisted she come along too. I hope that was alright.’

Inspector Robinson closed his eyes briefly and pulled down the corners of his mouth in an expression of long suffering patience.

‘I could take Miss Brown into your office if you like Jack, but it couldn’t hurt to have a reassuring presence in the room. If my theory is correct Miss Weston may be more volatile than she looks.’ Phryne offered.

Marvelling inwardly at his partner’s unfettered capacity to infiltrate every aspect of his life - up to and including commanding his subordinates, apparently by some kind of telepathy - Jack acquiesced with a curt nod, gently disengaging her arm in order to manoeuvre behind the desk.

Phryne extracted her hat pins and handed him her cloche which he deposited alongside his trench coat and fedora on the stand in his office.

‘I'm beginning to suspect more than just a family association between John Weston and Gene Jameson.’ She observed.

‘You think they were having an affair?’ His expression was impassive, although he had considered the possibility.’

‘I think the man who stayed up all night to see the baby born is most probably the father.’

Jack gave her a noncommittal tilt of the head, preferring to reserve judgement until he had a chance to interview the Mr and Mrs Jameson himself.

‘If so that could give John Weston a motive, if he wanted his wife out of the way and he could have taken the engagement ring for his daughter. He certainly seemed to set some importance by it.’

‘About time we went to talk to her then.’ Phryne agreed, and led the way through the hall door towards the interview room.

The two women were seated close together along one side of the interview table when the detectives entered. Daisy Weston looked quietly terrified, her handsome face was blanched and there were dark circles under her eyes.

Samantha Brown, by contrast looked more collected and more confident than she had at Meadow Falls Sanatorium. In fact, she scowled furiously at the detectives as they entered. The effect was not exactly intimidating - an angry field mouse is still a field mouse - but it was a little startling. Phryne noticed immediately that the ring which had once belonged to Caroline Weston, now rested on Samantha’s left hand.

She also realised at that moment that she still did not know _why_ Miss Brown was a patient at Meadow Falls and that this was something she should definitely have looked into, if only to avoid underestimating her client. A long-ago conversation from when she had first begun to enquire after a suitable establishment to care for Anna Ross, flickered momentarily across Phryne's consciousness. Many of the places she had rejected had chilled her blood and remained high on her list of Things She Would Do Something About. She had come back from a ‘hospital’ which specialised in the treatment of female hysteria, in serious need of a drink, so naturally she had sought out Mac.

_‘Of course, people will come up with all manner of ridiculous reasons for locking women away.’ The doctor observed with distaste._

_‘Sadly true.’ Phryne had agreed. ‘I suppose we should be thankful neither of our families have ever paid too much attention to our lifestyle choices or either one of us could have ended up on the wrong end of a spurious diagnosis.’_

_‘Well between my unnatural appetites and your shameless pursuit of cock, there's clearly something wrong with us.’ Mac responded, dripping sarcasm into her whiskey as she drained her glass._

‘Unnatural appetites and the shameless pursuit of cock’ had become a favourite toast between the two of them for months after that conversation. Faced with the trembling, defiant face of Samantha Brown, it suddenly seemed far less of a joking matter.

‘Why did you bring Daisy here? Her mother was killed and she's not well. I thought you were going to _help_ us?’ The last comment was directed at Phryne but Jack answered.

‘Miss Weston is not under arrest at present, we just need to ask her some questions.’

Phryne took a chair opposite the two women as Jack leant back against the wall extracting his notebook from the inside of his jacket.

‘It must have been very hard for you Daisy? Your mother being so unwell, no longer able to recognise you. Did it ever make you worry, about yourself?’

The soft sympathy in Phryne’s voice was genuine. If the girl was dangerous, if she had killed someone, she needed to be kept safe and others needed to be kept safe from her. Anna Ross had once taken Jane out onto a rooftop, fleeing from the monsters which had taken up residence in her head. Jane could have died that night, but Anna Ross was no more responsible for that than Jane was. If it came to it, Phryne was determined that Daisy Weston would see leniency in court, and was fully prepared to employ a ruthless combination of strategically applied blistering charm and cold hard cash, to see it done.

Daisy looked up at Miss Fisher with the same blank eyes she had turned on her in the rose garden and did not answer. Samantha however let out a squeak of rage, further emphasising her resemblance to an irate mouse.

‘Daisy isn't mad! She's upset. You shouldn't say things like that.’

Samantha’s hand grasped Daisy’s on the table, a rose ring belonging to a dead woman gleaming tight about her finger.

‘Can you tell us about the ring you're wearing Miss Brown?’ Jack asked, evidently feeling they would get more information from her than from Miss Weston.

‘Daisy gave it to me. It was her mother's and her grandmother's and now it's hers. She can give it to me if she likes.’ There was a defiance in the young woman’s voice that Phryne deeply approved of, but that did not change what needed to be done.

‘Your mother didn't give you that ring did she Daisy? Why would she? She no longer believed you were her daughter.’

Daisy shook her head, tears falling down her face now, she brushed them away roughly with the back of her hand. Jack pulled a clean handkerchief from his jacket pocket and passed it over, she took it and buried her face in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably.

‘You told me she wasn't your mother anymore. Is that why you took it from her?’ Phryne's tone was gentle but Daisy looked up at her words and spoke for the first time. He voice was ragged with grief, bitter as bile.

‘I never _took_ it. Uncle Henry gave it to me.’

Phryne and Jack exchanged surprised glances. They had not yet been able to interview Henry Jameson or his wife themselves, according to Hugh he was at the Lying-In Hospital at the time of his sister's death.

‘When was this Miss Weston, can you tell me what happened?’ Jack asked her.

‘He came over to see me in the morning after his little girl was born, maybe seven o'clock, dad was in bed, he’d got in late from staying up with Gene to see the baby. Uncle Henry said mum had given the ring to me.’ She leaned into Samantha who put a protective arm around her shoulder. ‘I knew she’d never would but, it was like having her back. I just wanted her back, I wanted her to see me again.’

‘Was there anything else about your uncle that struck you as strange? How did he seem?’

‘He was in a right state. Wouldn’t come in, said he had to get back to Gene. I figured he was just tired being up all night waiting for the baby. He was babbling, not making much sense. He said…he said I looked just like my mum, that he hoped she’d come back now, he’d fixed everything.’

‘You didn’t mention this when I spoke to you yesterday?’ Jack queried, watching the girl intently.

‘You never asked her about her uncle yesterday.’ Samantha interjected indignantly. ‘And you’d just told her mum was dead. She’s barely said two words since, she’s in shock.’

‘Jack!’ Phryne’s voice had an edge of panic to it. ‘Jack, it can run in families, if Henry Jameson is suffering from the same condition as his sister, if he killed her because of it…’

‘…his family could be in danger.’ Jack finished her thought aghast and turned to shout out to the bullpen. ‘Collins! Call the Lying-In Hospital, find out if Mrs Henry Jameson and her baby are still there, then bring the car around. If her husband is still in attendance, tell the staff we are on are way and not to antagonise him, just ask them to telephone the station if he tries to leave so we can have someone follow him.’

He dispatched another constable to take Miss Weston’s statement promising her and the still bristling Miss Brown that they could return to Meadow Falls when they were done. Collins finished up his phone call as Phryne was adding an extra hat pin to her china blue cloche in preparation for a fast drive. It was testament to the urgency of the situation that the Inspector had agreed to take the Hispano.

‘Sir.’ Collins appeared in the doorway sounding worried. ‘Mr Jameson took his wife and daughter home earlier this morning, the nurse I spoke to didn’t seem very happy about it, she said Mrs Jameson should have stayed at the home for at least a week but her husband insisted she go with him.’

Jack read out the address in Carlton they had gotten from John Weston during their interview the previous day and with Phryne behind the wheel, her cream silk scarf flowing out behind them like a pennant in the wind, they sped through the streets much faster than law or propriety would ordinarily allow.     


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The detectives arrive at the Jameson's house and spring into action.

_I hoped once I killed that thing that violated you, that took your face and wore it like a mask…I hoped that then you would come back. I thought maybe they would know the game was up and let you go. I’d called their bluff, but I guess it must have tipped my hand. I gave your mother’s ring to Daisy. The real Daisy. You would have been so angry to see how that thing treated her. It was another clue. You loved her so much, you would never not know her. It was afraid, the imposter, afraid it wouldn’t be able to fool her like it fooled the fancy doctor that they sent it to. It wasn't brave like you were._

_It was still early when I left the hospital, the streets were empty. I told it I would walk it home then lured it to an alleyway and made sure you were avenged. The blood came off so easy in the water-butt. That’s proof right there. Your blood could never be just washed away. I had to take the ring, to pass it on, you always said that family is important, that little token passing from one daughter to another. Each body fades along the line, but the little ring of roses, that stays golden._

_I should have known it would only make them angry._

_And now they’ve struck again. So cruel. We never did anything to deserve this. I just wanted to protect you, to get you back. But now I know, I know who is behind it all. And they have taken my daughter._

 

The Hispano-Suiza slammed to a halt outside the neat cottage garden belonging to Henry and Gene Jameson. A loud banging and shouting was audible from the roadside causing Jack to vault the door on the passenger side, coat flapping around his legs as Phryne swept gracefully after him. Hugh fumbled with the door handle, tripping out of the motorcar and following the detectives up the Jameson’s garden path.

John Weston was beating on the door with closed fists calling out for Gene. From an open window on an upper floor, they could hear the sound of a baby crying and a woman sobbing in terror.

‘Detective, Miss Fisher, please, it’s Henry. He’s got Gene up there. I came as soon as I realised he’d taken her from the hospital.’ The man’s face was ashen under his tweed cap. ‘It was him, wasn’t it? He killed Carol.’

Jack lost no time in answering him, as Collins led Mr Weston away towards the car, the Inspector hammered on the door himself, calling out a warning.

‘Mr Jameson this is the police, open the door!’

When there was no answer beyond the panicked wails from the upper window Jack caved the door in, breaking the latch with a single swift kick and sped inside, calling to Phryne to stay and cover the exit.

Phryne glanced sideways at him, sparing a fraction of her brain to appreciate the sight of her inspector in action, however the focus of her attention was on the climbing rose which clung to a wooden trellis attached to the cottage wall. She of course had no intention of staying put, Jack was bound to need her help.

She fished her pistol out of her handbag and secured it in her garter belt, where it completely ruined the line of her skirt, hitching the pale-blue satin up above her knees she began to climb. The soft silk of her ivory blouse kept snagging on the thorns and her light summer sandals slipped as she struggled to find footholds. Coming up to the level of the open window she cautiously peered inside, trying to get a look at the room before jumping in.

Henry Jameson looked a lot like his sister, Phryne thought, he had the same strong jaw and deep red hair. He was brandishing a large kitchen knife at a weeping blonde woman who could only be his wife. She was clutching a screaming bundle to her chest, a fuzz of dark hair against red skin the only thing visible from this angle, although it was making noise enough to wake the dead.

‘What have you done with her?’ The man was screaming. ‘I know that’s not her, you’ve changed her haven’t you. You’re one of them. You’re all in league. _Give me my daughter back you bitch_.’

‘Please Henry, just let us go. Don’t do this.’ She begged him between sobs.

At that moment, the door to the bedroom crashed open revealing Jack, who trained his gun on Henry Jameson and ordered him to drop the knife. Despite the seriousness of the situation Phryne couldn’t help thinking _hmm twice in one day, lucky me_ as the cheap wood splintered.

She extracted her pistol ready to back Jack up if needed and met his eye through the open window whilst the Jameson’s were distracted by his entrance. Evidently, the couple had been too preoccupied to hear the smashing of the door downstairs, or perhaps Henry was simply too far gone to care. He was sweating, his face almost as red as his hair and the knife in his hand was shaking uncontrollably.

‘She’s not my daughter. It’s just like it was with Carol. They’ve taken my Alice away, it’s not her anymore.’ His voice was cracked and almost pleading even in his rage.

Jack relaxed his posture as he tried to calm the man. ‘Just put the knife down Henry. We can sort this out, we can find your daughter. Just put the knife down and come with me.’

It almost worked. Phryne thought Jack’s soothing voice could cool a volcano when he was on form and his words at least appeared to take Jameson’s focus away from his cowering wife and screaming child. But in the sudden stillness of his hesitation, just as the man began to loosen his grip on the knife, there was a thunder of footsteps up the cottage’s narrow stairs.

John Weston had evidently given Constable Collins the slip, judging by the red mark under Hugh’s eye, this had probably been achieved by means of a sucker-punch. (Phryne excused the inattention on Hugh’s part, the poor boy wasn’t sleeping well with Dot so poorly). As soon as Mr Weston appeared in the doorway behind Jack, Henry Jameson’s whole face became suffused with a primal hatred.

‘ _You!_ ’ He screamed, flecks of spittle flying from his mouth. ‘You switched them, you took them away from me!’

The burst of rage which carried Jameson across the room was aimed squarely John Weston, but Jack was blocking his path and the first swipe of the knife was meant for him. The Inspector had begun to tentatively lower his weapon in the hope of calming the man, when the arrival of John Weston and Constable Collins had caused a momentary division of his attention. He had just got his finger back on the trigger when Phryne fired.

The knife clattered to the floor as Henry Jameson collapsed with a bullet in his leg. Mr Weston leapt over him to fold mother and child in a protective embrace and Phryne, her footing dislodged by the force of the recoil, plummeted 20 feet into the garden below, Jack’s terrified shout ringing in her ears as she fell.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A post case nightcap, a drunken outburst and a warm chocolate sauce.

The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher was not a woman to be brought down by anything so pedestrian as a mere fall from the side of a building. She had rolled expertly on impact, silently thankful for a brief but instructive affair with a Russian acrobat she’d once met in Milan. The only slight miscalculation had come when she encountered an unexpected (and spectacularly ugly) garden gnome. Her foot had caught on the wretched object as she attempted to right herself, leaving her with a nasty and extremely embarrassing sprain. She had a sneaking suspicion that, once they heard the story, Ces and Burt were going to start surreptitiously populating her garden with the horrid things.

In the meantime, she had to tolerate a relentless tide of ‘mothering’ first from Dot, whose morning sickness was much improved thanks to Mr Butler’s tonic and then from Jane. The latter had apparently decided that Phryne’s momentary set-back had left a vacancy in the guardian angel business and was determined to fill it by adhering to her every whim. The notable exceptions being any that involved moving off the chaise longue in the parlour for longer than it took to answer a call of nature.

At least Mac, who had bound up her ankle with care and competence could be relied upon for nothing more sympathetic than a resigned ‘what did you do now?’ as she puffed on her gasper, although she did issue a futile prohibition on mixing alcohol with the powder she prescribed for the pain. In a valiant attempt to resist the order to rest, Phryne had her telephone extended into the parlour where she proceeded to make a few strategically placed calls in the interests of mercy and natural justice.

The evening saw an improvement in her fortunes. Jack had insisted, over her very vocal protests, that Hugh drop her off at home when it became clear she could not put any weight on her swollen ankle. (In deference to her plight, the constable had made a sincere but unsuccessful attempt to conceal his excitement at getting to drive the hispano.) The Inspector returned around suppertime with news of developments after she had left, including assurances that there had been a certain amount of discretion employed when filing his report. As a consequence, as far as Russel St was concerned, it was a serving officer, not his civilian partner brandishing an unregistered weapon, who had actually shot their suspect.     

Mr Butler, who had apparently been roped into the conspiracy keeping her fixed to the sofa – _honestly it was only a sprain for goodness sake_ – had prepared a light supper of bread, cold meats and cheeses which could be eaten with ease from the chaise. Miss Fisher however, decided to forgive him entirely when he brought out a chocolate fondue, accompanied by a mound of fresh strawberries.

Jane looked away in pointed embarrassment the first-time Phryne accepted a chocolate covered fruit from Jack’s skewer, even though the disgruntled look brought about by the enforced passivity, evaporated into an effervescent smile as she licked the warm sauce from her lips. When Phryne returned the favour, Jane retired to her bedroom with an eye-roll so exaggerated it could only come from a fifteen-year-old girl.

Jack cast an abashed and slightly guilty expression up the stairs after her as he munched on his strawberry. Phryne reached out to where he was perched on an arm chair drawn up close to the chaise and gave him a reassuring pat on the knee.

‘Don’t be fooled. You know she’s your biggest advocate?’

‘Is that so?’

‘Oh yes. That mistletoe last July was an entirely strategic deployment apparently, she was most disappointed when it failed to produce immediate results.’

He raised his eyebrows in mild surprise, passing over the latter half of her revelation with a casual smirk.

‘I had no idea she was that devious, clearly she’s been around you too long.’ His smile retreated to his eyes as he sipped the champagne Mr Butler had served with desert.

‘Don’t underestimate her Jack. She has more than enough wiles of her own.’

‘I wouldn’t dare.’ He chuckled for a moment before his expression softened. ‘I’m very fond of Jane, I enjoy spending time with her, with both of you. It feels like…’ He stopped, seemingly unwilling to go on.

‘…an unanticipated level of domesticity?’ She finished his thought with a gentle smile. ‘I rather like it too.’ She confessed, somewhat to her own surprise.

His smile was a little bashful as he stroked the back of her hand, they sat together in contented silence for a while, as the evening breeze blew softly in through the open windows, heavy with the scent of jasmine.

It was Jack who spoke first.

‘We interviewed Gene Jameson and John Weston, you were right by the way.’

Phryne looked up from her reverie. ‘Alice Jameson is his daughter?’

He nodded. ‘I think even Hugh picked up on their relationship after Mr Weston assaulted him to go to her aid.’  

He had missed Phryne's presence in that interview. Gene Jameson has described a husband who had turned from a gentle if taciturn man, to a secretive one, prone to paranoia and dark moods although these had until now fallen short of violence. As she had become more and more afraid of him, she had sought out comfort from her brother in law, though neither realised just how unwell Henry Jameson had become. John Weston claimed to have loved his wife whole heartedly, but her sickness worsened and the person he loved had slipped further and further away. He had spent years grieving for the slow death of the woman he married before her brother killed her.

The pair had appeared to want forgiveness and God knew he was in no place to judge them. Still, despite his own glaring deficiencies in that department, Jack believed, and would always believe that marriage vows – _in sickness and in health, till death us do part_ – should mean something. He had lived for years in a celibate and lifeless marriage on the basis of that belief, only agreeing to a divorce when he realised it was the only thing he had left to offer Rosie, a poor recompense for his own inadequacies as a husband. And here there was a child, Alice Jameson would doubtless have to bear the consequences of her parent's indiscretion, or grow up believing her father to be a killer and a madman. It was a heart-breaking story and Jack sympathised, but part of him still found it difficult to condone their infidelity, whatever the reason. Phryne could have comforted them, or at least offered something better than the weak tea and cold competence he provided. It occurred to him that this rigid poverty of compassion was not a part of himself he especially liked.

‘And Henry Jameson, what will happen to him?’ Phryne asked, her expression a little too innocent.

‘Well he confessed; he feigned sleep and snuck out of the Lying-In Hospital in order to dispatch his sister’s ‘double’ after John Weston left. He kept asking if she was coming back and if we had found his daughter.’ Jack looked a little shaken by the memory, but rallied as he continued.

‘ _Someone,_ contacted Dr Anderson and a local magistrate, who have agreed he be detained in the secure facility up at Meadow Falls to receive treatment whilst the doctor studies his condition. Anderson was especially forthright on the subject when he telephoned. I must say, I would not like to get between that man and a research grant.’

‘Fancy that. I only hope his new assistant gets her ring back from police custody soon. I believe she will want to return it to Miss Brown, once she's feeling well enough to go back to work.’

Jack smiled fondly at her, she could be a hopeless romantic at times, though he was sure she would resolutely deny the charge if levelled at her.

‘I'll have Collins deliver it to Miss Weston tomorrow. There's no point us keeping it, now Jameson’s been declared unfit to stand trial.’

‘To love then Inspector?’ Phryne raised her glass of champagne in flagrant disobedience of her doctor's orders.

‘In whatever form it takes.’

The look they exchanged over the clink of their glasses would almost certainly have made Mac lose her lunch, but somehow neither of them cared.

They didn't need a ring of roses to know how tightly they were bound together. Jack loved her with the gravity of a serious man who did not give away his heart easily and she returned it with the wanton abandon of a woman who lived every day as if it were her last. It was wonderful and exciting and just a little dangerous and as with most things which frightened her, Phryne embraced the experience with her whole heart and gloried in it.

It was probably the champagne. When combined with the opiates Mac has prescribed for the pain in her ankle, the bubbles started going to Phryne's head, making her uncharacteristically serious and introspective. She thought about John Weston and Gene Jameson, and what it would be like to be bound by law to someone whose mind was lost to them; a partnership irrevocably altered into a relationship of dependency. John Weston might now be grieving in freedom, but it would take six years of permanent residence at Meadow Falls before Gene Jameson could be granted a divorce on the grounds of her husband’s lunacy. Phryne was a courageous woman but that thought - to become the demi-vierge, like Constance Chatterley in the early years of her marriage, staring up in fear at the ghastly white tombstones on the hill – she did not know if she had that promise in her and was not at all keen to find out. The fear that for Jack she might, was a cloying deadly thing and there was no glory in it.     

This was the cardinal sin for a woman, much less entertaining than the carnal sins she committed with considerable enthusiasm (and these days exclusively with Jack), but no less an act of rebellion. She might fly around the world and back again for those she loved and never ask for thanks, but she would never consent to be diminished for them. She would not allow the weight of their need or dependency to make her anything less than herself. It was one of the many reasons that she did not consider herself to be the marrying, nor the mothering kind. It was likely that if she offered that level of submission to Jack it would destroy them both, but equally he would never accept the Chatterley’s solution to a problem like the Jamerson’s. He might let a love affair become a friendship, but a marriage to him would be a marriage, without room for interpretation or caveat and if it ended for any reason Phryne doubted their friendship could survive it.

Jack filled the tumblers with whiskey from the sideboard and handed one to her.

‘Whiskey for your thoughts?’

‘I won't marry you, you know.’ If the champagne could be blamed for her train of thought it was definitely responsible for her saying that out loud.

‘Then it’s a good thing I'm neither brave nor foolish enough to ask you.’ His tone held all the dry wit of their usual banter but there was a faint flash of sadness in his eyes that broke her heart and spurred her on in her apparent fit of madness.

‘I'll be you friend, your lover, your partner and I'll love you to distraction. I'd take a bullet for you in a heartbeat –

‘ _Don't you dare!_ ’

‘- but I'll never marry you, I'll never have your children and obedience is not a virtue I ever intend to be accused of.’

Jack stared at her in utter bafflement for a brief moment and then burst out laughing. Knocking back his drink he set down his glass and took her hand.

‘Phryne Fisher’ he said with a serious expression that did not reach his eyes ‘left to your own devices, you will undoubtedly manage to become friend, saviour and guardian angel to every waif, stray, street urchin and teenage tearaway in Melbourne. If I have any latent parenting skills I imagine they will be tested, repeatedly and to the limit.’

Phryne made to interrupt him but he continued on regardless.

‘As far as marriage is concerned, I've come to a decision about that.’

She raised an eyebrow, still a little thrown by his previous declaration.

‘Oh, and what is that Inspector?’

‘I'm going to wait for _you_ to ask _me_.’

His face was a perfect deadpan and in her mildly intoxicated state she couldn't quite make out if he was joking or not. Nevertheless, she let out an entirely unladylike snort of laughter.

‘You'll be waiting a long time then.’

His lips twitched a fraction as he answered.

‘I’m a very patient man.’

‘You'll need to be.’ She grinned at him delighted, serious thoughts entirely chased away. ‘But you forgot about obedience.’

‘Well there I have no hope.’ He fought down a laugh as she tilted her head in agreement. ‘But I will settle for a process of negotiation.’

Phryne raised her eyebrows in question as Jack reached over to the table and skewered another strawberry, dipping it into the rich, thick chocolate sauce which was still warm in its insulated dish.

‘For example, if I feed you this, will you consent to abide by Dr MacMillan's prescription of bed rest until you are fully recovered?’

He held the fruit out to her, she took it, dropping a fat pearl of sauce onto the exposed skin below her neck.

‘I think I might be persuaded Jack, given the right incentive.’ She replied with a meaningful glance at the errant desert.

He gave her a devilish smile and proceeded to remove it with reckless abandon and wanton delight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phryne's thoughts on Constance Chatterley are in relation to this passage from Lady Chatterley's Lover:
> 
> "She began to be afraid of the ghastly white tombstones...detestable as false teeth, which stuck up on the hillside...The[y] affected her with a grisly kind of horror. She felt the time not far off when she would be buried there."
> 
> The context for the passage is Constance's celibate marriage - due to her husband's war injury - which starts driving her into a depression, resolved by and agreement that she be able to have sex with other people. The reference to the demi-vierge/half virgin is a much less accurate description of Phryne than Constance, but I can see it being a comparison Phryne might make given her gloomy train of thought at this point. 
> 
> Also - sidebar - I find Lady Chatterley's Lover really problematic and Oliver Mellors is a horrible bigot, but Phryne likes it, and I think it's something she might internally reference. She also equates enforced celibacy with death in Death at Victoria Dock - when talking about nun's being 'buried in a place like this' so I can see the comparison resonating.
> 
> On divorce due to lunacy - at this point in the UK you specifically could not get a divorce if your spouse was declared insane. I have a vague recollection from a long ago history A-Level that this was because it had at one point been a favoured way for men to get rid of inconvenient wives but haven't double checked. In Australia law varied by state but divorce due to insanity was permitted from 1923 in Victoria provided the person had spent 5 of the past 6 years in a mental institution and there was no hope of recovery. There is an interesting article from The Argus here: http://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/1867579


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I may have to write another one of these so here's a little epilogue set about 8 months later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's commented and left kudos it's really made my day to know people have enjoyed this little story. As it was a lot of fun to write I've been pondering a sequel to feature Jane in teen angst mode - possibly with a terrible boyfriend - but we will see what transpires when I try to write it. Especial thanks to Whopooh for giving me the idea and for all your encouraging comments :)

Dr Anderson tapped his pencil slowly against his teeth as he stared down at his notes. The problem was that, whilst he could keep the man comfortable and relatively calm most of the time, even after months of observation and hydrotherapy treatment, Henry Jameson was simply not showing any signs of improvement.

He placed the pencil on his desk at a precise right angle to edge of the mahogany frame and sat back, gazing out of the rain flecked windows without really seeing them. He caught his own steel grey eye in the reflection. Perhaps…perhaps it was time for a more radical approach.

Getting up he paced over to a filing cabinet, his sparse frame moved clumsily through the immaculately clear space and he caught his hip on the desk, hard enough to leave a bruise. He rubbed absently at the spot, hardly registering the pain. There was something he had been reading. Where was it? He began to flick through the files, intent upon his task. His fingers had a dexterity that eluded the rest of his body, as if they were channelling his mind which as always, was clear and focused.

‘Aha!’ The exclamation was clipped and quiet. He was a taciturn man by nature.

He sat back down and picked up the pencil again. The document was a draft of a paper he had seen presented at a scientific conference and had technically not been published yet; although much of the data had already been collected the results remained inconclusive. Still, he had had the misfortune to meet the man responsible for compiling it who was – in Dr Anderson’s considered, professional opinion – a hack at best a quack at worst.

He underlined another passage. What this project needed, he considered smugly, was competence at the helm.

Finishing up his notes he tidied away the paper and his own additions into a folder, labelled it in the perfect copperplate hand which so often eluded men in the medical profession and called for his assistant.      

Miss Weston entered, dressed neatly in a dark red suit which somehow managed to be both formal and slightly provocative. She did not smile as she looked at him.

‘Yes Doctor?’

‘Bring me a list of resident patients who have exhibited delusional behaviour. I am considering expanding the parameters of my study.’

_My study_. Thought the girl mutinously. Out loud she merely responded with an impassive ‘of course sir.’

When she returned with the list he took it from her and dismissed her for the night with a curt wave of his hand, an order to which she willingly acquiesced.  

He looked down at the list as she shut the door. She had alphabetised the patients by their Christian names, _again._ The doctor was almost certain this was intended as a deliberate provocation. He pondered the name at the top of the list:

Mrs Anna Ross

Yes, she would do nicely. Glancing up at the clock he realised with some surprise that it was 9.34pm. Where did the time go? He would have to telephone Miss Fisher in the morning.

Then maybe, he could finally begin to make some progress.


End file.
